


Rejuvenescence

by Bettybot (Lizbettywrites), Lizbettywrites



Series: The Ways They Said "I Love You" [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10653759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizbettywrites/pseuds/Bettybot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizbettywrites/pseuds/Lizbettywrites
Summary: re·ju·ve·nes·cence/rəˌjo͞ovəˈnesəns/noun[Biology]The reactivation of vegetative cells, resulting in regrowth from old or injured parts.





	1. In a blissful sigh as you fall asleep

A comfortable sort of ache permeated Whirl’s body as he rebooted. Hmm. A very comfortable ache.

Oh, right, he had company.

“Basking in the afterglow, huh?” The jet plastered to his side didn’t respond. Whirl poked him with the tip of a claw. “You awake yet, brainiac?”

Yellow optics flickered fitfully, and Brainstorm pressed closer, mouth forming words that didn’t make it past his vocalizer at first. “—umber on me: think I might’ve blown a fuse…”

“That so?” Whirl sniggered. “What can I say? I’m a weapon of mass destruction!”

“Mmm. Good weapon.”

Something warm and crackly swept through his chest at the statement. Huh. Whirl knew he was good, but no one ever said it like that before, in that tone, like it wasn’t some kind of backhanded compliment. He reset his vocalizer. “You, uh, you gonna stay or go, Stormy?”

“...gonna start conceptualizing methods of replicating this talent of yours…” He fell silent again, lips still mouthing the no doubt brilliant and destructive ideas passing through his brain as he drifted off again.

Whirl had almost reached the point of recharge when his audials picked up words said so softly that he must have misheard them. After all, no one would say that to him.

Definitely his imagination.


	2. Muffled, from the other side of the door

The habsuite doors on the Lost Light were not soundproof, and Whirl’s voice could be heard clearly from outside if one were to walk by. As usual, the helicopter was arguing with himself. From the sound of it, he was losing both sides.

“There ain’t no way that’s what he—

“‘S gotta be projecting if he did—

“Frag, but what if it wasn’t?

“What if I don’t want it to be?

“Hey, hey, simmer down, like Pit that’s it—

“‘S not like he’d be thinking it anyway, so who cares what I think?

“It ain’t like that between us, ‘s all, y’know—

“Is it, though?

“Primus slagging yes! Nobody’d believe I actually—

“No, no, don’t finish that thought—

“ _Slag!_ ”

Whirl’s voice subsided into muttering after that.

Brainstorm shook his head and continued down the hall. Best not to question it; he might not get the answer he wanted.


	3. A scream

It said a lot about Whirl's history that this wasn't the worst headache he'd had. It wasn't even the first time that he didn't remember the cause of one.

That being said, he had been laid out on the floor of his hab suite for over a day, so it was pretty bad. Stupid fragging Hornhead, letting the light in and talking so loud and confusing the thoughts that Whirl already didn't understand.

He tried to curl his spindly legs more tightly, pressurize himself to put pressure on the pressure in his processor, but the pain went on. Every little noise from the hall outside only amplified it. What was all that noise, anyway? Mechs' footsteps thudding down the hall like some kind of marathon through the ship, screaming and hollering like the bunch of hooligans Ultra Tightcogs said they were—usually including Whirl, but still—sounds of transformation every few seconds... Rodders probably had something to do with it.

The hall had been silent for a blissful ten minutes and eight seconds when yet another set of pedes came galumphing down the hall.

A voice called out, driving through his audials into his brain like a Great Sword—which actually sounded like a terrific idea in the midst of all this pain—or any time at all, really.

"Whirl!"

What, so now Brainstorm wanted to talk? Not a great time, but—

"Whirl!"

The voice was right outside his hab now and was accompanied by frantic banging on the door. Whirl lifted his head warily. That didn't sound like the usual angry tone people yelled his name in—or the other one reserved for Brainstorm.

"Whirl, are you in there? Are you okay? Whirl!"

That sounded... kind of terrified, actually. And shrill. Ouch.

"Whirl, Whirl, open up, please—Whirl!"

He was on his feet and moving toward the door then as a tsch-tch-tch-tch-che sounded beyond it.

"Storm—"

The door rejected his code. Locked? Why the Pit was it locked? What was going on out there?

Great. Now he had a headache and a case of déjà vu. This felt like the thing with Animus all over again. He hadn't even liked Animus. If there was another fragging sparkeater on this ship… The hall outside had gone silent again.

Whirl didn't like it.

His headache throbbed harder with each pulse of his spark. He sank back down, slumped against his door, and offlined his optic.

This wasn't the worst headache he'd had, he reminded himself. It wasn't even close.


	4. With no space left between us

Brainstorm looked over the Necrobot’s shop, for once unable to think of something to work on. His gaze passed over his hand, and the wince escaped him. Ratchet would get to him soon. A few dented, possibly cracked finger struts wasn’t that big a deal compared to some of the other injuries that had needed tending after the battle had ended and Megatron was talked down. He was lucky. Very lucky, considering the odds. They all were. Statistically speaking, only losing two mecha was practically a miracle.

Two and everyone else who’d died on this pointless quest. He could have stopped it. He should have stopped it. Brainstorm’s hands, broken and whole alike, twitched toward the mangled yellow box that leaned accusingly against the workbench.

It had killed him inside to let Rodimus destroy his work the first time. For this one last piece of it to reappear so suddenly and then be destroyed to save _Megatron_ , of all mechs, after everything that he had brought upon them, upon Brainstorm’s crewmates, his friends… on Skids, on _Nautica_...

He removed his mask and held it out in front of him. They’d gotten rid of the hidden brand after the trial, too. It had never meant much to him, not as anything but a means to an end. But then, was his Autobot brand that different?

A voice startled him from contemplation. “Hey.”

Brainstorm turned around and was glomped by six tons of spindly helicopter, warm and heavy and _alive_ against his plating. Sharp armor edges dug into his sides, but complaining was the last thing on his mind. He tucked his face into Whirl’s neck cabling, soaking up the contact.

“Glad you’re not dead, genius,” that harsh, wonderful voice muttered by his audial. Brainstorm returned the—hug, yes, this was a hug, weird as that was coming from Whirl of all mecha and yet—

“You too.” And really, at the end of the day, he couldn’t have done anything but be grateful for that.


End file.
